Updated at 6:30 PM

I have two years to prepare myself to eat my own foot, but I think and feel that this will be how things will turn out in the 2010 national elections…

The Presidency

It’s tough to float names, but I think the following people will rise up as contenders for the Presidency in 2010:

• Manny Villar
• Mar Roxas
• Bayani Fernando
• Ping Lacson
• Ely “Spike” Pamatong

I would personally campaign for Spike Boy for my own personal amusement, but it will be a cut-throat race between Mr. Palengke (Roxas) and Mr. Sipag at Tiyaga (Villar). I’m betting on Roxas; no, not because we met, but because so far, he has the youth on his side. Villar is just too trapo for most people I know. Not that he deserves the epithet, but I don’t know if his rags-to-riches story will work too well with the public.

Some side-notes on BF: I think that he’s the dark horse of the 2010 Presidential campaign.  As much as I don’t like Bayani, I have the gut feeling that if anyone will pull a surprise (if not a victory) in 2010, it definitely has to be him.  The challenge to BF is to expand the vote outside Metro Manila… although in an election where the Manila vote counts for a lot, don’t be surprised if BF lives up to the hype.

Ping has always been a strong contender for the Presidency, but he simply can’t translate votes for the Executive.  He’s always up in the running for the Presidency, but he just doesn’t win.  I don’t really know why.

If there’s anything that list would show, it’s that 2010 wouldn’t be a referendum on Arroyo.  More on that next time.

The Vice-Presidency

Again, it’s tough to float names, but I think the following will rise up as contenders for the second-highest post of the land:

• Loren Legarda
• Alan Peter Cayetano
• Chiz Escudero
• Jamby Madrigal
• Kiko Pangilinan

I’d be lying if I didn’t bet on a victory for Chiz, setting this scenario.  The “automatic” choice would be Loren, but I doubt if the public perception of her is still the same positive one she had in droves before.  Chiz, for all intents and purposes, is the Barack Obama of the Philippines; he has charisma points and kind of positions himself on the “audacity of hope” agenda that is something from Barack’s playbook.

I personally would like to see Chiz and Alan duke it out for the Vice-Presidency of the land.  Say what you will about Alan, but you can only imagine the youth vote taking center stage here.  As for Jamby… well, if you make waves, then you have to have ambitions.

I should add Jinggoy Estrada or Bong Revilla in this list, but I don’t think “Erap Magic” or star power will make them strong contenders for the post.  I think that both these guys do stand a chance, but we all have to wait for that one good reason why they’re worth it.

And then there’s the dark horse: Kiko Pangilinan.  Kiko blends star power with political magic, and I can honestly say that if Chiz loses (there’s a good chance he will), Kiko will be the next Vice-President of the Philippines.

Senators

And here we go… time to do some foot-eating in the future.  Here are just a few of who I’m thinking of right now:

• Romy Macalintal. I don’t know why, but I just have a feeling that the election lawyer will seek election.  Macalintal has this talent of coming into the public consciousness come election season.  Besides, if we’re talking about implicit candidacies, Macalintal has a billboard for that joint-pain thing.
• Prospero Pichay. I’m not saying that Pichay will win, all I’m saying here is that Pichay will run, and have a strong showing.  What intrigues me the most about Pichay is that unlike the other members of the previous administrative ticket, he wasn’t really an “embarrassment;” he actually drew votes on the basis of a novelty campaign that involved a sucky catchphrase and bok choy. Here’s to hoping that I can be proven wrong by the former Congressman.
• Joey de Venecia/Jun Lozada. I don’t know, I don’t want to know, but I have the feeling.  JoeyDV can be the heir-apparent to JDV.  Lozada… well, only time will tell.  I personally shudder at the thought, but that’s another story.
• Willie Revillame/Joey de Leon. Figures.  If either one of them wins… heaven knows what I’m going to do.  Expect privilege speeches that will involve “sinungaling at mandaraya” and rants about ratings.  Forget about eating my foot, I will think about making a promise to immolate myself in front of Batasan.
• Danton Remoto. I may disagree with Danton (his blog here) on more than a few occasions, but now that I know that he’s in the running for the Senate, I think that the LGBT agenda will have a strong showing knowing that Danton is representing the group at the legislative level.  So for all you haters who think that Marocharim should be cruicified for being a “homophobe,” there you go: I support Danton Remoto’s bid.
• Jarius Bondoc. The guy was once backed by Jovito Salonga.  Another journalist in the Senate?  Loren Legarda 2.0?  I hope not, although if you’re asking me if I’d support the man’s bid… hmmm… I guess I would.
• Winston Garcia. This short list would not be complete without the mention of a guy who has positioned himself well enough to jettison (?) himself to a Senate seat.  Winston Garcia positioned himself very well within the public eye with the Meralco feud.  I rue the day it happens, but never say never.

Well, so much for a positive outlook.  I’ll be 25 come 2010, so you have to wait 10 years.

I was checking out Original TMX and had one serious laugh trip.  Back then, I used to pay so much attention to the way my blog looks, and even installed a chatterbox.  On the tagboard of my old blog, I found a rather interesting… proposal, which was so funny I just have to blog about it:

For purposes of translation, an apparently “hot girl” named “sexy_katrina4″ is apparently attempting to solicit cybersex from yours truly.  It’s a sickening reminder, but I have zero experience with legitimate sex, much less cybersex.  Hmmm… maybe I should take up the offer of the sexy fourth Katrina without a surname, admit to myself that I’m a pervert, and have at least one thing to brag about to my friends when the topic of sex comes up (so to speak).

I’m not a moralist, but cybersex is wrong.  If you watched “Napoleon Dynamite” before, you would know that the people you get to meet on the Internet - much less “have sex with” - would probably not be who you were really expecting.  Like when Kip met LaFawnduh.  Worse, you may even end up in an online sexual predator sting operation and find yourself condemned, shunned, and ostracized by even by the denizens of McDonaldland because you’re the type of person who would have sexual intercourse with Grimace, doing the “Brokeback Mountain” thing at The Hamburger Patch.

So who says that “I wish I knew how to quit you?” line again… can Grimace even talk?

Of course, if I stumble off my rocker again, I might just take up the offer for cybersex.  The bad thing is, I’m a blogger.  Pardon me while I make a stereotypical comment about bloggers in general, but there is no way I’m going to pass up the chance of telling the entire world how my sexual encounter with sexy fourth Katrina without a surname went.  I’ll do the smut-on-the-Interweb thing myself.  With my virtual 27-inch genetic jackhammer, I ended up virtually ploughing sexy fourth Katrina without a surname’s virtual steaming, juicy virtual love tunnel.  Oh yes, she virtually took all 27 inches of my rock-hard virtual love rod.

Well, so much for bragging rights.  Sorry, sexy fourth Katrina without a surname, this 27-inch anaconda ain’t leaving the jungles of the Amazon.

Don’t get any ideas, pervert.

If you’re wondering where I am, I’m at McDonald’s.  I have a full view of KC Concepcion’s posters for BAYO, and a full view of my least-favorite species in the animal kingdom: Homo sapiens sapiens.

I have zero fashion sense: I’m just a jeans-shirt-jacket fellow.  The only way I know how to “spice up” my usual non-fashionable self is when I wear boots, which are very impractical when you’re aboard the MRT and you’re walking from the Shaw Boulevard platform to Ortigas Center.  However, my jologs fashion sense had me developing a rather keen eye for the fashion sense of other people.

Like Makati City party girls who wear ultra-short miniskirts and shorts even if they have ensaymada dough for legs.  Or old women who think that glutathione makes them look less like Jason Voorhees… although they look like Michael Myers.  Leatherface, even.  Rather than make women look like movie stars, glutathione and whitening agents have the opposite effect.

And then there’s the fashion sense of fathers everywhere: the collared, short-sleeved polo shirt.  Nothing speaks more of corporate fatherhood than wearing a Lacoste polo shirt, jeans, and leather loafers.  I think the inventor of the Daddy-Do should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for changing the way we look at fatherhood in general.

Or that annoying trend of today, Abner Mercado’s abel Iloco scarf.  I don’t know what’s up with that, and I certainly don’t know what’s up with emo kids wearing it with their skinny jeans and Paramore t-shirts.  Then they take pictures of themselves at comfort rooms at Gateway… I just hope they don’t go to Recto.

Which begs the question… who the f**k is Paramore?

I saw him yesterday, clutching his stomach near the parking lot at The Podium.  Moments ago, I saw him seated at a flight of stairs near Robinsons’ Galleria.  Tomorrow, I think I’ll still see him in that faded white Crispa shirt, blue shorts, worn slippers… and still clutching his stomach.

I see scenes like this all the time, but never in the seeming opulence of a place that’s supposed to be the headquarters of multinational corporations and agencies.  Here you have San Miguel Corporation, the Asian Development Bank, JG Summit, call centers.  At every corner, there’s a MiniStop, a 7-Eleven, or a Starbucks.  Nowhere else in the Philippines - not even in Makati - would you see the kind of wealth that speaks of class and sophistication.  Yet nowhere else would you be so maniacally depressed to see scenes like that hungry man sitting there, pale and sunburned, wondering if there is any salvation to be met in starvation and sheer exhaustion.

I kind of wonder if class structures are meant to be oppressive.  The truth is, they’re not.  Much about the harmony of society is defined and made possible by the fact that we are unequal.  Your economic standing is the Noble Lie of capitalist society; you’re meant to be in at least one of the many different striations of “rich,” “poor,” and that arbitrary substrate called “the middle class.”

It is when these structures start to become oppressive, when their blatant obviousness slaps you in the face, that you see what injustice is made of.  It is when you start to contrast what was once taken-for-granted - and see the stark difference between the haves and the have-nots, that injustice is supposed to move you.

Too bad, it doesn’t have to.  It doesn’t have to be moving, considering that this hungry man is not alone.  Millions of Filipinos are just like this man, only they’re not surrounded by skyscrapers and opulence and coffee-swilling underpaid employees of corporations.  It doesn’t have to be obvious when his image is drowned by business suits and crisp polo shirts.  It doesn’t have to be unjust, when there are so many other injustices in the world to piss you off besides his grumbling stomach and his pale, lined face.

But then again, what can I do?

After years of Internet shop writing, I finally have a notebook computer.  Strangely enough, I’m in an Internet shop paying ten bucks an hour for wi-fi… some things never change.

Now before you go after me with flaming torches and rusty pitchforks, let me explain.  Every job requires a tool.  Carpenters need hammers.  Plumbers need wrenches.  While a writer like myself would do well with typewriters, there’s much more prudence and relevance in having a notebook computer.  I didn’t ask for a notebook on the basis of pecuniary canons of taste.  I need a convenient way to write, and so here I am with the 21st century equivalent to quills and parchment rolls.

The Marocharim Writing Machine is one made by Lenovo Corporation, powered by a 1.73 GHz Intel Dual-Core processor, 1 GB of RAM, and 160 GB of hard disk space.  Yes, it’s an overpowered typewriter… well, it gets the job done.

My friends say that I am a walking pall of gloom.  Not that I’m emo or anything, I just happen to not be the life of the party.  I don’t care if I use 17 less facial muscles whenever I smile.  Deadpan people, people knocked dead with a frying pan, and frying pans run over by exploding steamrollers have a higher emotional quotient than I do.  Cheery, bubbly, artificially-happy people upset me.

I was a McDonald’s at Katipunan when this cute, petite cashier started beaming as she took my order, and asked if I wanted to upgrade my large fries to that “Shake Shake” promotional thing for Kung Fu Panda.  “Sure,” I replied, knowing that I have four options less than what they sell at Potato Corner for a fraction of the price.  After taking my order of a cheeseburger, large Coke, and the bag of barbecue-flavored french fries, I sat sullenly on a table and, well, read the instructions:

For best results, shake in front of face.

The flux was that about?

I guess “The Million-Dollar Man” Ted DiBiase was right: “Everything has a price.”  A couple of months back when we had a road trip to Tagaytay City, there was this Flying V station by the highway where the gas boys, in the effort to attract customers, danced to the tune of “YMCA” by the Village People.  Pump price?  More than P50.  Sight of gas attendants dancing classic 1970s disco hit sans Indian headdress, sailor outfit, police uniform, and patent leather body suit at 3 PM heat?  Priceless.

*     *     *

On musical notes, there are three things that pissed me off this weekend:

• Annoying falsettos of Leona Lewis.  I don’t know what’s up with “Bleeding Love.”  It reminds me of the 1980s, Tiffany, and girls with the hiccups reaching a point of orgasm.
• “ABBA:” The Musical.  IKEA products, not ABBA, are the greatest cultural exports of Sweden.
• Apple bottom jeans (jeans) and boots with the fur (with the furr…).  ‘Nuff said.

*     *     * 

Notes from professional wrestling: I was in high spirits last week when CM Punk cashed in his Money in the Bank opportunity and became the new World Heavyweight Champion.  I’m a big fan of independent wrestling promotions (especially Ring of Honor, Combat Zone Wrestling, and of course, ChickFight), and I am a big fan of CM Punk’s ring ability.  There was this spoiler that Bryan Danielson of ROH had a very successful dark match win over Lance Cade.  Danielson is one of the very best in the world today, and he deserves to be thrust in the limelight.

My shallow expectation: CM Punk vs. Bryan Danielson in the very near future.

CM Punk’s win offset the worst pro wrestling news I had in years: the return of the Ultimate Warrior (25 June 2008, Nu-Wrestling Evolution).  Boy, if Warrior sucked before, he sure as hell sucks now.  If you can stand it, watch the match on YouTube… I wish he’d just tear down the cockpit door, get to the capsule he came from, and make his way to Parts Unknown.

WTF moments: I had an early birthday present from a thoughtful post by Ronin AnimeLover, who writes:

The youth are now proactive, not only in the streets but also in cyberspace as well. People are now taking their outrage from police-controlled environments to the untrekked world of digital information, a.k.a. the Internet.

And with their struggle supported by the launching of the blogs of Jun Lozada and Among Ed, respectively, and joining the ranks of the respectable political blogs of MLQ, Lester Cavestany, and Marck Ronald Rimorin, to name a few, it won’t be too long before the cloud of the Philippine political blogosphere gathers like water drops condensing into a massive thundercloud.

I like the idea of the youth being socially proactive through the Internet and all, and I like the ring of “water drops condensing into a massive thundercloud.”  All of a sudden, political meteorology sounds like such a good prospect.  But what really got me squirming - both with flattery and shame - is that the blogger lumped me up with Manolo Quezon and Lester Cavestany.  These are two people who deserve everything about being “respectable political bloggers.”  I, on the other hand, translate songs by Aegis.

Who?  Me?  Respectable political blogger?

I think it will please the likes of Arbet and Jester-in-Exile if I lifted my self-imposed political blogging moratorium and wrote more about politics, and if I postpone my post on the possibility of Renz Verano singing a Tagalized version of “Always Be My Baby” (I have it in my Drafts).  Which means I’ll end up doing two things: post the translation anyway (I still have to check if the measure matches) and lift my political blogging moratorium.

To be honest, even I can’t stand it.

I don’t care what you do for a living, how much you make, or what salutatory title precedes or follows your name.  If you got to take a dump, you have to take a dump.

Almost everyone new to the workforce will be hesitant to do Number Twos at the office comfort room.  My first month was rife with having to hold my intestinal sausages in until such time that I can go home, lock the bathroom door, and take to the literal cleansing of the bowels.  Of course, you can’t hold on to such behavior for too long.  I don’t know if company health plans ensure for ruptured colons.

I guess taking nonchalant craps are something exclusive to menfolk.  Men more than women are more open about bodily catharsis.  After all, any tree, wall, or utility post is a potential urinal.  We don’t make much of a deal about taking a shat as women do.  Women beat men hands-down at farting inside elevators; they retain their poise.  Poise is not exactly something you retain when you have your underwear bunched down to your knees, and you’re popping out cholera-infected Smurfs from down there.

Yet professionalism and good conduct extends to every company property; yes, even in the comfort room, even at the most private moment of making jebs, you have to conduct yourself properly.  You have to act like you have a wedgie, and you feel like taking a long dump.  You have to stifle every urge to grunt and to groan.  Vocalization helps a lot in ridding yourself out of yesterday’s dinner of munggo, and you really can’t do this in the office bathroom unless you want rumors to spread over your grunting and groaning at the bathroom cubicles.

And then there’s toilet paper.  At the precise moment when you need to say goodbye to those playful little denizens of Oz that have walked down the Brownish-Yellow Brick Road, you realize that there’s no more toilet paper.  Offices may be quick on salaries, but I have yet to see an office that’s quick on restocking bathrooms with loo rolls.  For those who have forgotten to buy them pop-up packs at the MiniStop or 7-Eleven, there’s always the water pail.

Discretion, as a reminder, is the better part of valor.

Here’s the deal: for now, I’m making a self-imposed moratorium on political entries here in The Marocharim Experiment.  Granted that I’ll still be blogging about political matters over at Filipino Voices, but for now, I am making a political statement by not blogging about politics for as long as I can stand it.

For one, I’m getting tired of ranting about politics whenever I get the chance to blog.  I’m just a writer: I AM NOT A POLITICAL COMMENTATOR.  I cannot stress this enough.  It’s not because I’m in any kind of trouble from people because of my political views, it’s more like more and more people are making politically-charged entries (some even becoming political “commenters” in the process) without having a single idea about what exactly is so “political” about something political.

A case in point would be the thread of comments in Jun Lozada’s blog, especially in one of his entries, which has me all but thinking if these “commentaries” can pass off as legitimate arguments in a court (much less “rule”) of law.

Second reason why I’m imposing a political blogging moratorium in this blog: I seem to keep on repeating my political views over and over again, to the point that I’m sounding like a broken record.  The bottom line is resistance.  If you don’t believe that, then I hope that we can meet halfway by respecting each other’s views.  Now if you can’t understand that, I can’t help you.

Third, there are a lot of things I like to write about more than politics.  To be honest, politics is my least favorite topic to write about as a blogger.

Fourth, and perhaps the most important reason, is something I take from the cue of stuart-santiago: once a political person is given a political avenue to make a political viewpoint, everything becomes politicized to the point that you become nothing but political, that you may so come close to crapping and pissing politics.  I’m a very imbalanced writing personality: I really can’t commit myself to writing on a single niche because, among other things, I like writing about the inane.

So will I still participate in political blogging trout-slapping and (heaven forbid) piss-contests?  Well, only time will tell before I start addressing This Government through unflattering remarks that will probably have me going all paranoid again.

For now, Marocharim the Political Commentator is taking a brief break from this dizzying hurly-burly of political commentary.

Mainly because I really, really suck at it.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you may remember that I wrote something about an abscessed tooth a few months back.  It’s only now that I realize how big a problem a single tooth could be, so much so that I may have to undergo oral surgery this weekend.

It’s a good thing I don’t Podcast, or else the little anti-Marocharim bloc somewhere in cyberspace (I never knew they actually existed: took me a long weekend to figure that out) would rejoice in the fact that it only takes a dentist to shut me up.  I still have my fingers, of course, which means that the anthropomorphic cybernetic weasels would have to wish upon a vodun that I either get leprosy or hand-herpes.

I don’t know much about dentistry myself, although the dentist explained that oral surgery ain’t that bad.  One of my molars have been so misaligned - braces weren’t able to save it - that it has to be removed by hook or by crook.  As it seems, though, even massive doses of dental anaesthesia no longer work on me.

Normally, two vials of novocaine would be enough to conk you out and leave you with that puffy feeling in your mouth.  Not for me, though: by the time the dentist tried to pry my tooth out after a controlled overdose of anaesthetic, my knuckles were turning white from pain.  I swear, had I not taken a leak at the office, I would have wet my pants from the excruciating pain.  So after a few more prods with that Freddy Krueger-like instrument, the dentist just gave up and slated me for oral surgery.

And… how much did my braces cost again?